A western in two shades of gray (powerhouse creatives contest)

All my photographs have memories for me caught on camera and this first one puts me in mind of the silver gun girlie. This story is built around that...

Image by Dean Moriarty from Pixabay

And now we shall talk about gold in the gin and the silver gun girlie…

burble burble..

There was once a gun girlie with silver pistols, but secretly she wanted them to be gold.

Now, there she was all silver pistols in the sunlight and glowing, with no one around at all to give her all she wanted; when looking up she spotted a bar, no too far away. So she went in the bar for a glass of gin, white gin and sat on a stool to drink it. A little yap dog followed her in and sat beside her that no one knew the name of and so let it go with a free pass.

About a while later the piano harp girl was playing something kind of dark when the miners barged in with their bags of gold and headed straight for the bar and whisky, lots of whisky. Anyway, seven feet of whisky drinking later they were all drunk and barking mad.

Image by Dean Moriarty from Pixabay

Suddenly, the silver gun girlie who’d walking in the door earlier and had walked up to the bar and ordered a glass of gin, took a sip of it more and growled.

She was a fast silver gun girlie most of the time, and wore a hat on her head at a slight jaunty angle

The little yap dog yipped

Over in the corner the piano harp girl was playing a dirge with lots of foreplay in it as if there was something in it for her.

The silver gun girlie looked at the piano harp girl for a moment, and then said: stop that; play something lively; I'm of a mood to dance.

So the piano harp girl struck up a lively piece that got everyone to feeling frisky, except the miners, they were all dead drunk and snoring on the floor and under the tables.

Although this may be stranger than fiction, down Mexico way, this was the story that was happening, all about wanting gold and a little yap dog, and more, if you’re lucky.

And all the characters were thirsty for something, and the girls were larger than life, and a little yap dog, sitting in the corner of this story, was yapping.

A hundred and fifty year old monk with the feet of a saint, passing by outside the bar of this, glanced in, and was immediately immersed in the goings on, and grinning from ear to ear, he passed on into his going...

And a formidable opponent on the grapevine, who was coming from the other direction, blew a kiss and expanded to fill the screen until the only feeling was punch-drunk and wooden pepper on the nose with a touch of fate.

In this here or there the silver the gun girlie was thinking away, when the piano harp girl farted and did a jingle and sashayed up and got the music going, like someone that knew what they were doing.

The silver gun girlie’s eyes followed her all the way. If she was going to love someone, then the piano harp girl was what she wanted; but how could she ever get so close to her to tell her so?

Out in the garden of her love, where the foxgloves were growing, a rustic music was swirling that grew to say: tell her how you feel, or get your gun out and shoot her dead.

Image by Dean Moriarty from Pixabay

And so, as the only silver gun girlie anywhere to be found this side of doom, she growled at the piano harp girl.

Oh-oh, said the piano harp girl, and began playing the music to match the pace.

As the silver gun girlie went back to her drink, a little bit glumly the piano harp girl came on most strongly as if she wanted to give the silver pistol gun girlie a kiss, and as she was not averse to this she puckered up for the kiss.

The little yap dog went yip-yip then in between them so that they had to bend over backwards away from its incessant yapping.

Is that your yap dog said the piano harp girl?

It surely is surely a yap dog, isn’t it, said the silver gun girlie.

Above and beyond these gravitational turnings that the silver gun girlie was slipping into, she sighed, and gave the piano harp girl what she wanted and kissed her lips.

You dastard, said the piano harp girl, and gave her a bunch of grapes.

The silver pistols gun girlie gloomed into her drink; and thought: was she so bad she thought, thinking like?

The silver gun girlie took out her gun then and shot holes everywhere with it; and with the re-bounces, her hat began to look most holy.

The piano harp girl was wondering if she really was a sex pest as she ran for cover and felt herself boiling up inside and bubbling up for gold again, so that she just had to turn around and say: it’s now or never, so give me what you’re made of or blow bubbles with your toes.

The silver gun girlie grabbed the piano harp girl like the hero she was and made her beg for mercy until she was aching all over from all the thrashing about, which is when she was let go of so that she could take a breath and say how good it was.

My god, she said.

Skip on down said the piano gun girlie.

It was here that the piano harp girl knew she would go mad if she didn't dance soon.

But before she did, the piano harp girl pulled out a gun and shot the silver gun girlie six times through the heart with all she had to give and then went back to playing the harp.

The night has wonders if you dare to go through it, but you must lose your heart first for all you must lose it for, and know that, before you begin.

A kind of paradigm of the virtues, or some kind of an escape spell that has no known antidote blowing kisses from a blind alley so that you just have to saddle up and see what it is.

Oh, it’s fate, that’s what it is; bloody fate, with lots of guns going off, and much moaning, and many bodies all over the place, and dim lights hardly giving a glow.

Zoologists, twenty thousand years later, picked apart this story in glee, and found no use for it, and so gave it away free to the masses as a western in two shades of gray.

And now the curtain shall fall on this...

Image by Dean Moriarty from Pixabay

Some of these images are on Pixabay, but they are all taken by me with my camera